


Up High, Down Low

by stitchcasual



Series: Kiss Me Like You Mean It [6]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Early Relationship, Height difference, Kissing, M/M, armored kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 01:19:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10709130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchcasual/pseuds/stitchcasual
Summary: Sometimes Hawke forgets just how short Fenris really is. It doesn't usually matter when they're fighting...but Other Times, turns out it matters.





	Up High, Down Low

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beetle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/gifts).



> Prompt 17 (height difference kisses where one person has to bend down and the other is on their tippy toes)  
> *blows kisses* ILU BEETLE, ENJOY  
> (pssst, there will be more later)

There were some things Hawke often forgot about: eating, if he was particularly busy and no one reminded him; watching his own back in combat, as he got preoccupied with his chosen target and assumed someone would watch it for him; and just how much smaller than him Fenris really was. The elf was wicked strong, wielding his two-handed greatsword with deceptive ease and charging with devastating force into ranks of their enemies, stunning or bowling over most he came in contact with. When they fought, it didn't matter how tall Fenris was (unless Varric was their archer, he supposed).

And they fought a lot, especially in those early years, scrapping to make a living. And really, Fenris’s height had never mattered, not for a long time, because as interested as Hawke was in the captivatingly beautiful, hauntingly mysterious elf, he wouldn't push him. Couldn’t push him without the chance of spooking him and scaring him off. Hawke wouldn’t take the chance of Fenris accepting his advances simply out of a feeling of obligation, a way to repay him for helping with the slavers that night they met.

So once it _ did  _ start mattering, Hawke figured it was to be expected that he would sometimes misremember Fenris’s height. There were a lot of other things he had his mind on, after all; worrying about the state of the city and the constant clashes between Meredith and Orsino, the passive way Elthina watched from her Chantry, the people in the streets looking to him to solve their problems because no one else was doing anything. Which made things all the more confusing when he turned from his front door to bid Fenris a good night after a long day fixing things and found the elf’s face on a level with his own, soulful green eyes shining at him. He blinked. Fenris was this tall? That didn’t seem quite right.

“Fenris?”

“Shh,” Fenris said. He reached out with one gentle, spike-gauntleted hand to catch Hawke’s arm, still armored itself, and tug him closer.

Their lips met, cautious and tentatively seeking, this dance one they were yet learning all the steps to. Hawke moaned, the dry warmth of Fenris's lips his undoing as they slowly parted to allow Fenris’s tongue to dart against him, encouraging him to open. He wrapped his other arm around Fenris’s waist, careful of the tendency the armor joints had of pinching flesh and snagging garments. Fenris hummed, a low, pleased sound, and shifted his grip from Hawke’s arm to the gorget under his chin. Hawke had a moment of confusion before Fenris  _ pulled, _ dropping down and forcing Hawke to dip his head if he wanted to keep kissing Fenris. Which he did, he really did.

So he ducked his head, craned his neck, snugged Fenris closer to his breastplate, and stolidly ignored the crick forming down the top of his spine. He peeked though, twisting his head to look down at Fenris’s feet. Flat on the ground. Huh. Right. Fenris was short, he reminded himself, the top of his head coming only as high as Hawke’s chin. Which, he’d found to his delight a week ago, was perfect for resting his chin on to elicit an amused grumble after a battle. 

Fenris hmm’d a questioning sound at Hawke’s movement, nearly pulling away before Hawke came back to himself. He used the considerable strength coiled in his arm around Fenris’s waist to lift the elf onto the edge of one of the planters outside the door. It honestly didn't matter to him that his mother had begun the process of digging up the old plants and putting in new ones; all that mattered was that it put Fenris, flat-footed, even with Hawke.

He broke away, kissed the corner of Fenris’s mouth, and smiled at him when the elf opened his eyes. Fenris shifted his feet in the dirt that had spilled out of the planter, creating a cleaner spot to stand in, then smirked, threaded his gauntlet through Hawke’s hair, and slotted their lips together again.

**Author's Note:**

> [Prompt me!](https://stitchcasual.tumblr.com/post/159868019924/fictional-kiss-prompts)


End file.
